


Time In A Bottle

by lovesrainscent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrainscent/pseuds/lovesrainscent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written in 2004.  Several people had asked for a sequel to “Only The Cat Saw”, my first response to the 2nd Person POV challenge, so here it is. What can I say? Be careful what you wish for. This is 2nd Person as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time In A Bottle

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, JKRowling does._

 

Your hand hesitates upon the doorknob. You know full well why you’ve been summoned here. Part of you wants to flee, but you’re made of sterner stuff than that, you chide yourself. You straighten your hat and smooth the front of your robe. You reach out and touch the cool doorknob again, turn it, and open the door.

He stands with his back to you, stiff and tall, black robe draped from his squared shoulders to the floor. For the briefest instant you’re thankful that he’s not facing you. You don’t think you could stand that – not just yet.

“Severus?” Your voice is hushed and soft.

“So they sent you, did they?” he replies, never moving, not even turning his head toward you.

“Yes,” you answer matter-of-factly. It’s the tone he’s most accustomed to after all these years.

“I suppose there’s a certain symmetry to it, then,” he starts to lift his hand forward to touch the one in front of him but then lets it fall limply back to his side.

You stride forward, standing just to his left. You think about touching him, a hand at his shoulder or elbow, simple human contact to let him know that you understand. But you decide not to. You look forward into the face of the one that’s captured his gaze.

The room is silent and peaceful, the flowers abundant and fragrant. But the silence between the two of you stretches for such a span that it becomes uncomfortable, the heady scent of the flowers cloying.

“Severus, we should go, now,” you start but he raises a hand to silence you. He reaches forward into the coffin and tucks an errant strand of silver hair back into its proper place.

“I don’t know whether to thank you or to blame you,” he states flatly.

Blame? You’re taken aback. What could he possibly mean?

He continues, “It was all your doing, at the beginning, wasn’t it?”

You think back sixty-odd years ago. “Yes,” you acknowledge, “yes, I suppose I did have something to do with it.”

He nods mutely and it seems that his shoulders aren’t quite as squared as they were to begin with, his pose isn’t as prickly in its defensiveness.

“My children sent for you?” he adds, turning to look at you and cocking an eyebrow up.

“Yes,” you nod yourself, relaxing somewhat as well.

“As I said,” he remarks dryly, “I don’t know whether to thank your or to blame you.”

“A little of both then, I should think.”

He nods again then turns back to the one before you. “She was eighty, just last week. We should have had a party but she wasn’t feeling well...,” his voice trails off.

You think about all the thousands of trite things you could say at this point. ‘ She’d been ill for a long time. ‘ ‘It’s all for the best.’ ‘She’s in a better place now.’ None of it seems appropriate, every line of it absurd.

“I could have brewed it for her,” he adds thoughtfully.

You stiffen. It’s been such a long time, over sixty years, you’d almost forgotten all the atrocities he had been exposed to in his young life. The potion he speaks of was one of Voldemort’s own. You try to hold your tongue, try not to hiss in horror and manage to say, in as controlled a voice as possible, “She would have had none of it.”

“I know. But she died of old age, they said, simply old age...and I...I could have brewed it for her. Do you know how often I’ve thought of that? When the first grey hairs appeared she laughed about it, but I knew what was coming. And so did she of course...and I thought then of offering to...to...forestall...”

You reach up then to touch his shoulder but he flinches away, steps forward and places both hands on the coffin, gripping the edge so hard that his knuckles are white.

“Do you know what a cruel trick this is, Minerva? Do you? I am one hundred and two this month. I can expect to live another one hundred years. Without her. Do you understand me? Without her!”

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you bloody well do understand! Perhaps the Malfoy’s of this world were right all along. Perhaps purebloods have no business intermingling with Mudbloods! Magical ability they may have in spades, but not longevity! Do you understand me, Minerva? And my own children – am I to watch them grow old and die because they’ve inherited their mother’s lifespan? Am I to outlive my own grandchildren? Am I? Answer me!”

“And what if you do, Severus? Is it better that they were never born at all? Would you prefer to have laughed but not all of your laughter and wept but not all of your tears?”

“I...I...I just don’t want to let her go.”

“I know. But it’s time...they’re waiting.”

“Just a moment more?” he asks in a voice that sounds like the eleven year old boy you met ninety-one years ago. You nod an assent and return to standing in companionable silence by his side for a few more minutes.

“Severus,” you begin again since it’s obvious he could stand there forever. “Severus there are things...things to be getting on with,” you choke back your own tears.

His head jerks around to stare at you, astonished at how wrapped up in his own grief he’s been. “Forgive me, Minerva,” he whispers solemnly. “I had forgotten. How long has it been?”

“He’s been dead one year this August,” you answer looking at a vacant spot on the wall just over his shoulder.

Severus nods, then offers you his arm. “Forgive me. Of course you understand.”

The two of you turn toward the door.

A/N: “laughed but not all of your laughter and wept but not all of your tears” is from Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet”. The actual quote is:

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,  
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,  
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your  
laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

The title is from the Jim Croce song of the same name.


End file.
